


Three Months Later

by Mayasynth



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alex is a grade-A professional queer sherpa, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Magnus is basically the protag of his own personal Comedy of Errors, Other, Post-The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase), Rated T for They Say Fuck Now, Target candle-aisle shenanigans, a dash of Samirah/Amir and a heaping tablespoon of Blitzen/Hearthstone on the side, canon-typical alternating he/she pronouns for Alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayasynth/pseuds/Mayasynth
Summary: Three months ago, Magnus Chase won his first Viking Rap Battle. He had his first (two!) kisses. And Alex Fierro, mastermind of said kisses, told him,I'll get back to you.Since then, it's been three months of radio silence. Which is, you know, fine. Magnus can deal. He's a patient man. (Teenager. Immortal teenager. Whatever.) He can wait.[In which Magnus is oblivious, Alex Works Through Some Shit, and Blitzen and Hearthstone—wait a minute. Have already been dating for 3 years?Fluff and make-up anniversary presents ensue.]
Relationships: Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro
Comments: 42
Kudos: 212





	1. In Which I Talk To Myself in a Public Bathroom (and That's Not Even the Most Embarrassing Part of My Night)

**Author's Note:**

> What is UP y'all, I just finished rereading this entire series for some much needed 2020 serotonin and am ready to write a 10,000+ word fanfiction without looking up a single canon detail (as I already returned all 3 books to the library and thus cannot). Let's goo!!

The moment the bathroom door was closed behind me, I put my head in my hands and groaned. When that was done, I went over to the sink, squinted at my reflection in the ugly fluorescent light, and groaned some more. 

"Why are you like this?" I asked Magnus-in-the-mirror. He did not reply.

Behind me, a toilet flushed, and my night went from bad to worse. I watched with horror as a balding middle-aged man emerged from one of the public toilet stalls behind me—stalls I could have _sworn_ were empty when I came in just moments before—and walked up to the sinks to wash his hands. We made painfully awkward eye contact in the mirror.

"Hey. How you doin'," I said. Shockingly, toilet-man did not reply either. Instead, he shot me a look that said _Come any closer and I'll taze you,_ dried his hands, and went back out into the food court. I cast a quick glance under the remaining stall to check for any more hidden middle-aged men, then jabbed an angry finger at Mirror-Magnus. 

"This is all your fault, you know."

Maybe I should start at the beginning. 

That evening, we'd gone to Fadlan's falafels to celebrate Sam getting her student pilot certificate. The whole gang had been there: Hearth, Blitz, Amir, and all of Floor 19—including, of course, Alex Fierro. Alex Fierro, the ferocious green-haired einherjar who had kissed me that summer under a freezing blanket in the middle of Niflheim. Alex Fierro, who had kissed me _again_ a few days later, and another four times since. (Not that I was counting.) Alex Fierro, whose foot kept nudging mine under the cafeteria table as we ate, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine every time.

Alex Fierro, who had told me that he would "get back to me" about the whole dating thing three months ago, and hadn't said a word on the topic since. 

Which was, you know, fine. I could deal. I could wait. I was a patient man. (Teenager. Immortal teenager. Whatever.)

But sometimes, I wondered exactly how much of our eternal undead adolescence Alex was planning to make me wait.

Amir had laid out an awesome spread, carrying over tray after tray of dips and wraps and falafel, even after Sam begged him to stop for the sake of his father's business margins. He just couldn't stop smiling; every time he so much as glanced at Samirah, his eyes sparkled with pride. 

"She's the youngest student to get her certificate Barry's ever had!" he told us, for about the fifth time. 

"Amir, they know," groaned Sam. She protested a lot, but I think secretly she enjoyed it. "You make it sound like I'll be a professional pilot _tomorrow…_ I've still got a long way to go."

"So, what's next then?" Alex said, through a mouthful of falafel. (Which should have been disgusting, probably. Except I'm an idiot, so it wasn't.)

"Well, for now, I just need to concentrate on passing my SAT subject tests…" she muttered. "But after that—lots and lots of training. Once I turn seventeen, I can try for my private pilot license, and then once I'm eighteen, I can get my commercial pilot license—"

"And then a gap year, to sit on the beach and relax?" I suggested. 

She grinned. "Oh, no. Then fifteen-hundred hours of flight training time, and my airline transport pilot license. _Then_ I'll finally be Captain al-Abbas."

"Mortals," Mallory scoffed from the other end of the table. "Always in such a rush."

"And all these qualifications!" Halfborn added. "In my day, if you wanted to sail a boat—well, you built a boat. That's it, off you go. Am I right?"

He elbowed TJ, who blinked and nodded like he was being pulled back out of a trance. From the looks of it, he'd been busy daydreaming of clouds and blue skies at thirty thousand feet. Apparently, he'd only learned _today_ that Sam was training to be a pilot, and her promise to give him a ride (once she was allowed to take passengers flying solo) was a lot to deal with for a nineteenth century guy.

"I'm just glad I passed the medical exam," Sam muttered, reaching up to fiddle with her new glasses. She'd only gotten them two weeks ago, and was constantly pushing them farther up her nose and complaining whenever they steamed up. It wouldn't be a problem for her flying, apparently—so long as she could still see 20/20 with them on—but she hated them all the same. "Stupid eyes. Stupid late night calculus homework."

"I think they look lovely on you," Amir said softly, then turned bright red as half the table _ooh_ 'ed like a bunch of middle schoolers. 

" _Stop it,_ " groaned Sam, covering her face with her hands. Which didn't end up well for the glasses.

"Yea, watch it, loverboy," Alex said, pointing a piece of lettuce threateningly in Amir's direction.

"Aw, come on," I said, nudging his elbow with mine. "You can't chaperone this. They're just too cute."

"You're one to talk," Blitzen called from the other end of the table, where he and Hearth were apparently busy being adults. Eating at normal speeds, not making childish _ooh_ 'ing noises, et cetera. "You two are such a sweet couple you oughta come with a warning to diabetics."

It took me a moment to process what Blitz had just said, given that at the very same moment Alex had smacked me gently across the face with the leaf of lettuce. (Which was a damp, mildly unpleasant, cucumber-scented experience I was not eager to repeat any time soon.) As soon as his words clicked together in my mind, I stiffened in my chair. 

"We're not—I mean, that's—" I stuttered, panicking. "We're not… a couple."

Dead silence fell across the table. All eyes turned to me and Alex. Beside me, Alex was sitting still as a statue. 

"So, uh," Amir said at last, when the silence had stretched on so long I swear I'd forgotten the sound of human voices. "What subject tests are you taking again, Samirah…?"

Sam started to talk, seizing the subject change like a breath of fresh air, but I found I couldn't listen to a word she said. I was too busy watching Alex out of the corner of my eye. Slowly, very slowly, he put the leaf of lettuce back on his plate. 

Then, abruptly, he scraped his chair back and said, "I'm going to get some more napkins."

The moment he'd left earshot, Sam's enthusiastic lecture on the SAT subject test scoring system petered out. Blitzen leaned across the table and said, in an urgent whisper: 

"Kid, I'm so sorry. I really am." He winced. "When did you and Alex break up?"

"Oh," I said, less than thrilled to have the whole table's eyes on me once again. "Actually, we, um… were never dating?"

Another silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mallory—gesturing with a plastic knife, appropriately enough—snapped, "Why did you say that like a question?"

"I'm back," Alex announced, rather loudly. He dumped a stack of napkins on the table, thenturned towards me. I searched his face for any sign of anger or disappointment or… well, anything, really. But his face was perfectly blank.

"Magnus, I just got a text from Marisol. She says a new kid just arrived and is balling their eyes out in the foyer—she could use some help. I should probably head over there."

Marisol had been one of the very first teens to arrive at the Chase Space the day the doors opened; from that moment on, she'd pretty much been a permanent fixture. Even though we'd told her plenty of times she didn't have to, she was always in the kitchen scrubbing up the shared pots and pans or photocopying flyers at the front desk or helping people study for their GEDs. The minute she turned eighteen, we'd gotten her on the payroll officially. It was great to have someone else to watch the Space while me, Alex, Blitz, and Hearth were out—or when we needed to, you know, sleep. Marisol, being a night owl, was a perfect fit.

"Oh," I said. I made to push my seat back, reaching around for my jacket. "Good idea. Just give me a minute and I'll—"

"It's fine, you stay. Probably only a two person job," said Alex. Before I knew it, he'd slung his bag over his shoulder, gathered up his trash, and was backing toward the door. "Bye, all. I'll see you later. Congrats again, Sam." 

And with that, he was gone. The entire table was still looking at me like I'd grown a second head. Mercifully—or perhaps not so mercifully, given the _you owe me, idiot_ look she was shooting me—Sam carried on:

"So anyway, the _non-_ calculator section…"

* * *

"What the Helheim _,_ kid?" Blitz cried. "What do you mean _you just haven't talked about it?"_

"I don't know! We just—haven't talked about it!" I stopped and cursed as I nearly ran into a lamppost, and sidestepped out the way. Signing, talking, and walking backward at the same time wasn't easy, especially along a dark and kind-of-frosty Boston sidewalk. But clearly, Hearth and Blitzen weren't willing to let this go. "We've been busy setting up the Chase Space, you know?"

"Too busy to ask, ' _Hey, are we dating?'"_ Blitzen said drily. 

_I didn't know it was even a question,_ signed Hearth. _You declared your love for her in front of an entire army._

"Well, yea, and then a few days later…" I winced. I hadn't told anyone this part. "He said he needed time to 'think about it.'" 

"Oh." Blitzen blinked. "Oof."

_Ouch,_ Hearth fingerspelled. 

"Yowza."

"Alright, you can stop now," I groaned. My legs hit something that turned out to be a concrete planter, and with a sigh I sat down on it. It wasn't like I was in a rush to get back to the Chase Space and face Alex, anyway.

Blitzen grimaced and got down into a sort of slav squat so he was at eye-level with me. So did Hearthstone. I wondered what passers-by would think of us—ah, there goes the Midnight Pigeon Impersonation Squad again.

"Alright, Magnus," Blitzen said. "Look. Listen."

"Taste. Feel. Smell," I said flatly. "You'd make a great kindergarten teacher."

He slapped my leg. " _Listen._ If this were anyone else, Magnus, I would say—'Okay. It's been three months. Clearly, they were just trying to let you down gently. They're just not that into you. Time to move on. Plenty more einherjar in the sea.'"

"Not loving this kindergarten class so far."

"But I've _seen_ you and Alex together," Blitz continued, completely ignoring me. "You two are head over heels for each other, kid."

_Always cuddling,_ Hearth agreed. 

"Flirting," Blitz carried on. The sign for _flirting_ looked kind of like he was playing a baby piano. 

_Holding hands._

"Making out in the kitchen."

I felt myself turning red. I knew exactly the incident he was referring to there; it was one of the aforementioned 'four times since,' the ones which played constantly in the back of my mind whenever Alex was in the room like the world's sappiest Powerpoint presentation. It had been movie night at the Chase Space, all of us cozied up with hot chocolate and snacks in Uncle Randolf's ridiculously high-ceilinged living room. There were about a dozen sofas and sectionals and recliners in the room, but somehow Alex had ended up in the very same oversized leather armchair as me. Under the same blanket. About halfway through the movie—at which point I was starting to feel a little light-headed, given that I'd practically held my breath the last forty-five minutes—one of the younger kids asked sheepishly if there was any more popcorn. I got up to make some more. Alex met me on the way out of the kitchen, leaning nonchalantly against the doorway. I'd shifted the bowl of popcorn onto one hip and asked why she was smirking at me, to which she replied:

"You've got a hot chocolate mustache, idiot."

And then, before I could say anything else, she kissed me. (Number three.) She'd grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in—nearly making me spill popcorn all over the floor—and when her lips met mine, they tasted of cinnamon and chocolate. (Which was no surprise. I'd seen the amount of cinnamon she'd poured into her Swiss Miss before the movie started, and it was enough to make me sneeze just looking at it.)

And then, afterward, we'd gone back to the movie like nothing ever happened. Though not before Hearthstone walked in on us and ruined the moment.

"Ok, first of all," I said to Blitzen, cheeks burning, "that was _one time._ Second, we were not 'making out.' And third—Hearth, you _told him?"_

Hearth just shrugged like, _sorry, couldn't help it._

"What part of _Cars 2_ got you two in the mood, I'll never know," Blitzen muttered, sounding vaguely haunted. "Teenagers are sick, sick creatures."

I groaned and scrubbed my face with my hands. "Listen. _Listen._ I just don't know how to bring it up, okay? And I feel like, if Alex hasn't brought it up already… well, maybe he really does just want to be friends." I frowned, thinking of the Handful of Kisses. "Or friends who… friends with—?"

"Magnus, if you say 'friends with benefits,' I am legally obliged to take you to the Boston Sexual Health Clinic right now and make you read several dozen very graphic pamphlets," Blitzen said drily.

I didn't think it was possible to turn any redder than I already was, but that did it. " _Oh my god,_ Blitzen, you know that wasn't what I meant." 

_We're just trying to look out for you, son,_ Hearth signed.

I shot both of them a murderous glare, then got to my feet and set off down the sidewalk again at a backwards-walk so brisk it was nearly a run. "I've changed my mind. We're not having this conversation."

Blitz grabbed Hearth by the arm and hurried to catch up. "Aw kid, but I had so much brilliant advice left to give!"

"Nope! No thank you!"

"Listen, if you really don't know how to ask Alex out—"

"No! Conversation over!" I put my hands over my ears and closed my eyes so I couldn't see them signing—then promptly walked butt-first into a bikerack.

"—just do what I did. Turn up at his door in your best tux and say 'I'm taking you to dinner. In a romantic way, I mean. Not like all the times we've had dinner before, that is.'" 

"What?" I glared at Blitz, massaging my, ah, _posterior—_ but Blitz wasn't even looking at me. Instead, he was staring at Hearthstone, a wry smile on his face.

"And then, after that, he says—"

_'I've already had dinner,'_ Hearthstone signed. The corner of his mouth twitched just a little, which was the Hearthstone equivalent of raucous laughter. 

"And then you take that as a no, and slink away heartbroken, until he catches up and signs—"

_'Wait, wait! I'll just have an appetizer!'_

Blitzen snickered. "I still can't believe you did that to me, elf."

Hearth tapped his wrist, then held up nine fingers, practically waving them in Blitzen's face. _It was nine o' clock!_

"Hey, it took me a long time to pick out my outfit!" 

"Wait," I said, and the two of them finally stopped and looked at me. My mouth opened and closed a few times, like the world's most oblivious fish; I looked from Hearth to Blitzen and back again, and several thousand tiny jigsaw puzzle pieces finally clicked into place.

"Are you two… _a couple?"_ I managed at last.

I was treated to my third long, painfully awkward silence of the night. This wasn't usually a quiet part of Boston—or at least, it didn't usually seem like one. But right then, I swear I could have heard a pin drop. 

Very slowly, Hearth signed, _Are you joking?_

"Oh my gods, he's not," murmured Blitzen, in the same tone of voice one might say, _I'm sorry, sir, but it's incurable. Worst case of brain-worms I've ever seen. We'll have to conduct a full head amputation immediately._

"I just.. I didn't…" I managed. "How long have—?"

_Three years!_ Hearth signed. Given the indignant look on his face, and the face that the ASL sign for _years_ involves thumping one fist on top of the other, it kind of looked like he was threatening to beat me up.

"You came to our _anniversary party,_ " Blitzen said, his eyes bugging out at me.

"Was that—back in August, you mean?" They both nodded. "I thought that was… I don't know. A friend-iversary? Celebrating when you met, or something?"

Hearth put his head in his hands, which was basically the Deaf equivalent of, _I can't even talk to you right now._ Blitz patted him on the shoulder like he was consoling him after the death of a beloved pet.

"I didn't want to assume!" I cried. "You guys never said anything! I thought you were just, like, really close. No toxic masculinity here, no thank you. We hug our bros here at the Casa-de-Hearth-y-Blitzen. I've never seen you, like— _kiss_ or anything."

"It may astound you to learn that Hearth isn't big on PDA," Blitzen said flatly. Which, knowing Hearth, did not actually astound me. As I watched, Hearth lifted his head from his hands and signed:

_It all makes so much sense now._

"Gods, I know," Blitzen replied. "Three months is nothing. Imagine how long they would have carried on being this stupid if I hadn't said anything."

Hearth looked pained. _Until Ragnarok._

Blitzen heaved a deep sigh, then turned to me with such a serious expression on his face that I gulped. 

"Look, Magnus. I love that you respect other people's boundaries. And never ask people invasive questions. Or any questions, really. Or pick up on any context clues, ever." He grimaced. "But you can't respect people's boundaries if you don't _know where they are._ Otherwise, you're going to spend every day of your life cowering in your house, afraid that if you go outside you're going to trip over neighbor's fence."

Slowly, I nodded. I was red as a tomato, and more annoyed at myself than I had ever been in my entire life, and I was pretty sure I was gonna have a bruise on my left buttcheek the next day, but— "That was a quality metaphor, Blitzen."

"Of course it was. I'm a quality advice-giver. And I'm also—" He linked his elbow in Hearth's and shot Magnus a very pointed look. "A quality _boyfriend,_ so I'm going to get this elf out of the cold before he starts growing icicles. Are you good to go, or are you still recovering from your fight with that bike rack?"

"Noo, I'm good. Also, um…" I ran a nervous hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, guys. Really. Big-time. I'll make it up to you."

Hearth rolled his eyes. Blitzen made a sort of dismissive _each_ sound. 

"It's fine, kid. You've got bigger problems right now." Blitz raised an eyebrow. "Like how you're going to explain to Alex that you didn't realize _you guys_ were a couple, either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I'm concerned Blitz and Hearth being Practically Married and Magnus being too oblivious to realize it is basically canon. I mean, Blitzen wears a *green carnation* in his lapel in BOOK ONE. Mr Riordan?? Mr Riordan, hello?? Come here I just want to talk


	2. In Which Alex Buys a Brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the following chapter includes graphic depictions of two people going on a Non-Essential Shopping Trip. These events should be imagined as taking place in an alternate, Good 2020, and should not be tried at home.

As it turned out, I didn't have to explain anything at all to Alex when we got back to the Chase Space. Because by the time we got back, Alex was gone.

"Oh, she said she was going back to the Hotel for the night," Marisol told us when we came in. (After a few too many times letting slip the phrase "Hotel Valhalla" in front of her, I'd managed to convince her that that was what me and Alex nicknamed the multi-story apartment block we both lived in. (Because it had once been a hotel—and because someone had spray-painted one of the side walls with a giant mural dedicated to the Salem State Vikings, apparently.) Which had worked great, until we learned that she ran an Instagram dedicated specifically to the street art of Boston. Now I spent every other conversation with her coming up with excuses as to why she couldn't come and photograph our building. Alex thought it was hilarious.

Or at least—she usually did. She probably wouldn't have done now.)

"Thanks, Marisol," I told her. "How's the new kid?"

"Oh, they're getting settled in their new room now. Alex made 'em some hot chocolate and the pair of them had a long talk about legal emancipation." Marisol winced. "I'm just glad they found us."

"Yeah—me too." That brightened my mood, actually. After the mortifying evening I'd had, it was good to hear that the Chase Space was working—that even if I made a complete fool of myself in every area of my personal life, we were still doing good here. 

I'd just have to talk to Alex tomorrow, I thought as I took Marisol's stack of empty coffee cups (the girl was a machine) to the kitchen. Whatever was going on with us, I'd sort it out then. 

* * *

I did not sort it out then. Or the next day. Or the next day after that. Because for the whole rest of the week, Alex Fierro avoided me.

It wasn't like we didn't see each other. There were still meals and practice battles at the Hotel Valhalla, and lots of work at the Chase Space to be done. But somehow, every time I tried to approach her alone, she vanished into thin air. Once, as I ran to catch up to her on our way out of the feast hall, I swear she turned into a mouse—one moment I was following her through a doorway, calling her name, and the next I was on the other side of the door all by myself, looking around for whatever small and furry thing had just run over my feet. 

Eventually, I concocted a cunning plan: I would knock on her door. Well, alright—it wasn't that cunning. But here's the twist: this time, unlike every other time, I would duck down out of view of the peephole so that she couldn't see it was me. Then, the second she opened the door—before she could slam it closed again—I would say:

"I need your help."

I wasn't proud of it either. But it worked, at least. Except for the part where she squinted at me through the cracked door, squatting on the carpet like the star member of the Pigeon Impersonation Squad I was, and said:

"Help with what, tying your shoes?"

I blinked, honestly a little shocked that I'd gotten this far, and stood. Through the door, I caught a glimpse of her outfit: an autumny, olive green chunky sweater/skirt/tights combo that was so cute it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I pulled myself together long enough to say: "I, um—I need to get an anniversary gift for Hearth and Blitzen."

She still didn't open the door more than an inch, but I could see her shift her weight to place her hand on her hip. (I could also see that her tights had cat faces on the knees. Definite tears.) "Their anniversary was in August."

"Yea, I know. But I, uh… didn't know they were actually dating at the time. I feel like I didn't get them a good enough gift now." I winced. "I brought them _pizza."_

A long pause. "You're serious."

"Deathly."

She stared at me for a long moment, mouth slightly open. Then she said, in a tone that was almost—was it my imagination?— _dreamy:_ "Oh my God, you're so stupid."

"I know." I clasped my hands together like I was praying. "Please? Help?"

She heaved a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine. But only because Hearth and Blitzen don't deserve you. Let me get my purse."

* * *

"Magnus Chase. What, pray tell the fuck, is a 'friend-iversary'?"

"I don't know!" I moaned, shoving the vanilla and bergamot candle I'd been holding back on its shelf. We were in Target, which itself had been a topic of some contention ("Walmart's closer." "But I don't like Walmart…" "No ethical consumption under capitalism, Magnus." "But Target has better candles." "Literally the same brands, Magnus." "They just smell better in Target, okay?"), and I was already feeling better. Alex had teased me mercilessly about the whole friend-iversary situation ever since we left the hotel. So, in other words, things were pretty much back to normal. 

"They literally call each other _dear heart,_ " Alex said. "And _my dwarf,_ and _my elf."_

"Hey, I've called them that too! Well, okay—not _dear heart._ But I thought we were just being, you know. Toxic-masculinity-free bros." I picked a huge black sparkly candle and showed it to her. "What about this one?"

She stared at it. "You do know there's a glitter skeleton on the other side, right? That's a Halloween candle."

I had not, in fact, seen the skeleton. But I couldn't back down now. "Yeah, of course. It represents how my skeleton crawled out of my body and ran away in horror and shame when I realized my mistake."

Alex raised an eyebrow and plucked a pink brain-shaped candle from the shelf. "What about this one? It represents how you have no—"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," I grumbled, putting the skeleton back. I moved farther down the aisle—away from the halloween section—and she came after me, brain-candle still in hand. 

"I mean _seriously,_ Magnus. Blitz was even wearing a green carnation at the party!"

She was never going to let me live this down, was she? "Alright, I'll bite. What does a green carnation mean?"

"Oh, come on. Like Oscar Wilde?" She sighed, holding the brain-candle in front of her like Hamlet talking to a skull. "A green carnation in the lapel was _the_ secret gay bat-signal of the late-nineteenth century."

I paused halfway through sniffing a beautiful three-wick cedar magnolia, squinting at her over the top of the jar. "Oscar Wilde... was secretly gay Batman?" 

"Oh, for God's sake." She rolled her eyes, snatching the candle away from me as I cackled. "Come on, we're getting you out of this aisle. There's no way a five-dollar candle can atone for your sins, anyway."

Alex put the gorgeous cedar-magnolia back—though she kept the brain, I noticed—and grabbed my arm. Then, as my heart-rate spiked and I tried very hard not to stare at her chipped black nail-polish-painted fingers wrapped around my arm, she dragged me out the aisle.

* * *

"Why are we in the home goods section?"

"Because they're adults, Magnus. And what do adults like?" Alex picked up a novelty halloween spatula shaped like a skull, frowned at it thoughtfully, then tossed it aside. "Kitchen gadgets."

"I think you may just be generalizing there." I peered at my own warped reflection in the side of a toaster. "Plus, I'm pretty sure they're only like, twenty."

"Really? Damn, I thought they were older. Probably because they're basically your parents."

"Ha, ha."

"But my point still stands. I—" Suddenly, Alex stopped. Her eyes shone. She shoved the brain candle—which, inexplicably, she had carried all the way across the store—onto a shelf between two blenders and darted down the aisle. By the time I caught up to her, she was already wresting a heavy-looking box from the shelf.

"A rice cooker?" I grimaced. "Isn't that kind of… I dunno, boring?" 

Alex's eyebrows flew up. She wrapped her arms protectively around the box like it was a beloved pet I'd just insulted. "Boring? _Excuse me?_ Magnus, a rice cooker is the best _sorry-I-thought-you-were-straight-and-therefore-kind-of-missed-your-anniversary_ gift there is. It's practical, sophisticated, mature..." Her eyebrows inched somehow even higher. "Romantic."

I snorted. " _Romantic?"_

"It does fondue, Magnus. Everyone knows that fondue is the most romantic semi-liquid there is."

"I'm gonna need you to never say that in front of me ever again."

She flashed me a wicked grin. "Fine. You don't like fondue? It has thirty-two other functions." She shook the box in my direction. " _Thirty-two, Magnus!"_

"Alright, alright! I'll get it!" I snuck a glance at the price tag and saw that it was, thankfully, within budget. It was true that I was kind-of-sort-of rich now thanks to Uncle Randolph—but at the same time, I tried to save as much for the Chase Space as possible. I kept myself on a strict allowance.

"Of course you will. Who has the brain?" Alex jerked her head towards the wrinkly pink candle, which was beginning to… what's the opposite of 'grow on me'? 'Shrink on me'?

"You have the brain," I groaned.

"That's right." She shoved the box at my chest. "Now, you hold this. My arms are getting sore."

"Why don't we just get a cart?"

"Oh." She snapped her fingers. " _Oh,_ brilliant. See, maybe your brain is growing back after all."  


* * *

Standing in the checkout line, I had a sudden and terrifying realization. Alex was talking to me again; I'd dragged her out of Hotel Valhalla, taken her for a pretty nice afternoon out; she seemed to be in a good mood. It was time to Ask the Thing. 

_So—have you had enough time to 'think about it' yet?_

I found myself shaking my head. No, I couldn't just ask her that _here,_ in the Target checkout line—I'd have to set the scene. Take her for coffee, maybe. There was a Starbucks down the road… 

"Magnus, why do you look like you're trying to decide whether to sell your firstborn child?" came Alex's voice from behind me. 

"What? Oh, I, uh—just trying to decide whether I should get skittles or not." I snatched up a pack from the checkout display, just to make my excuse more convincing. "Did you want anyth— _oh my God,_ are you really buying that thing?"

She grinned, stroking the cursed brain candle like a Bond villain with her cat.

"Yup. It's really growing on me. I think I'm gonna call it Magnus Junior."

"Ha, ha." I rolled my eyes. As we shuffled forward another step in the queue, I hefted the rice cooker onto the conveyor belt and patted the top of the box. "Well, stick it next to Alex Junior, then."

"Nah, I'll get it."

"Dude, don't worry about it, it's only—

"It's fourteen dollars."

" _Excuse me?"_ I nearly choked. "For a candle? It's only two inches tall!"

She shrugged. "Apparently it has some sort of metal skull inside that pokes through as the candle burns out."

"Still." I paused, frowning. "Wait a minute—the skull is _inside_ the brain? That doesn't even make—"

"Hi! How are you today?" the cashier chimed in, and I snapped my mouth shut. Commence Normal Human Being Mode, Magnus.

"Uh—good! Thanks. How are you?"

"Pretty good!" As the cashier reached across to grab the rice cooker, I noticed something. Pinned to their hat was a little rainbow skeleton (it was almost Halloween, after all), a bi-pride pin, and a tiny enamel THEY/THEM. My heart skipped a beat. I cast a glance at Alex to see if she had noticed, but she was too busy getting her wallet out. Should I say something, I wondered? _Hey, I like your pins? Hey, I_ love _your pins? Hey, your pins are… really cool?_ Normal Human Magnus Mode had no protocols for this. 

In the end, I just stayed awkwardly silent throughout the entire transaction. _Nice job, Normal Human Magnus,_ I thought as I muttered a thank you and took my receipt. 

The cashier turned to Alex next, looking like they were just about to launch into the typical "hey how are you" spiel, when they froze. "Oh my gosh—sorry, I know you probably hear this a lot, but I love your eyes! Are those contacts?"

Alex was rummaging in her wallet, counting the change out into her palm. "Thanks. Nah, no contacts—just all natural, free range heterochromia." She finally fished out enough quarters and dumped the lot into the cashier's hand. "Only hetero thing about me."

That got a hearty laugh out of Mx. Cashier. I nearly laughed too, even though I must have heard Alex make that same joke a hundred times before—but something stopped me. Something about the way the corner of Alex's mouth quirked upward. Something about the way the cashier smiled and said "Have a nice day, you two!" as we left—although they were only looking at Alex when they said it.

As we went out into the parking lot, I lagged behind Alex. The vision of Alex-and-me-at-the-coffeeshop I'd imagined just a few minutes ago suddenly seemed so far away. All I could see in my mind's eye now was that cute, conspiratorial smirk on Alex's face when the two of them had laughed together at her joke. 

"Hey, seeing as we're out, you wanna swing by the Chase Space?" Alex was saying. "I noticed last time I was over there that they're running low on pretzels. Printer paper, too. I was gonna get some in Target, but I swear the food section in this one is—"

"Hey, uh," I cut in, shuffling to a halt. "I actually just… remembered that I promised Halfborn I'd help him with his Boston U application."

Which was totally true. If a little bit misleading. I _had_ promised Halfborn I'd read over his application—only, I'd already done so two days ago. (He'd needed help thinking of normal twenty-first century extra-curriculars, which mostly just consisted of removing "to-the-death" from all the activities he already had written down.)

"Oh. Okay." Alex blinked, the smile sliding off her face. I felt a surge of guilt. "He's really doing another PhD?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Russian literature this time, I think? Don't ask me why." I probably should have caved then; just told her that I'd make it up to Halfborn later. I probably should have leapt at the chance to hang out with her more, after several long days of silence. But all I really wanted to do at that moment was go back to my room, lie face-down on the carpet, and make high-pitched whining sounds until dinner. 

"So, um—meet you back at the hotel?" I said, shifting my Target bag awkwardly from one hand to the other.

"Yea," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Sure."

* * *

I made it as far as the Hotel Valhalla elevator before Normal Human Magnus Mode cracked. As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, I buried my face in my hands and groaned for ten solid seconds. I caught sight of my own reflection in the elevator doors through the gaps in my fingers and scowled.

"Again, Magnus," I muttered. " _Why are you like this?"_

Honestly, there were quite a few different reasons I was mad at myself right then. Because aside from putting off dealing with mine-and-Alex's relationship (or lack thereof), there was something else I'd been putting off for months now. Namely… 

Well… 

The thing _was—_

I still wasn't exactly sure what my own sexuality was. If I was bi, or pan, or polysexual, or whatever. I mean, I knew I was _something—_ several long nights of soul-searching, back when I first realized I was crushing on Alex, had confirmed that. Clearly, the next logical step was for me to figure out exactly what that _something_ was, buy a fun pair of pride socks, and move on. 

But hours of internet research and months of soul-searching later, I still didn't know. Apparently, according to several well-meaning forum responders, I was just supposed to go with whatever "felt right." But the problem was, nothing felt right—not yet. I had spent so long being Dead Straight White Male Magnus (or, you know… _Alive_ Straight White Male Magnus) that I didn't really know how to be anything else. And did I even really deserve to wear those fun pride socks, or call myself bi or pan or poly or queer, if I hadn't suffered as much as—

Okay. Look. I knew that that was a stupid way to think. There was no way I'd tell anyone else, _No, you can't possibly be X until you have been kicked out by your parents at least one (1) time._ But that didn't stop the little voice in the back of my head. Whenever I looked at Alex—whenever I thought of everything she'd gone through, how strong she was—the idea that I could be in her league, LGBTQ-wise or otherwise, seemed just ridiculous. 

Maybe she did deserve someone better than me after all. Someone who already had their shit together; someone who was already out-and-proud. Someone who knew, for starters, what they were out _as._

"Uh—are you okay, buddy?"

I started, my hands flying away from my face. Somehow, I hadn't noticed the elevator doors opening. On the other side stood TJ, staring at me and my rice cooker and my existential elevator crisis with no small amount of concern.

"What? _Yeah!"_ I cried, in what was probably the most unconvincing display of emotion Floor 19 had ever seen. (And Floor 19 had seen Halfborn perform a one-man version of _Macbeth._ ) When I started down the corridor, TJ followed after me.

"Really? Because, uh… people who are 'okay' usually don't stand cradling their heads in their hands and making sounds like a wounded moose." 

"I did not sound like a—never mind." I stopped in front of the door to my room, putting the Target bag down by my feet, and spotted something I hadn't noticed before. Alex had left her receipt in the bag, and right next to where the cashier had circled the amount she'd saved, they had drawn a little smiley face.

"It's… complicated," I muttered miserably.

TJ peered over my shoulder and into the bag. "Yea, I bet. Thirty-two functions sounds like a lot."

I could tell he was offering me an out. For one long moment, I just stood flipping my keycard in my hand, weighing up the mortifying ordeal of being known versus the mortifying ordeal of going back to my room to eat ice cream on the floor alone. 

Eventually, the first one won out. I sighed and sat down on the floor next to the stupid rice cooker, my back against the wall. TJ hunkered down opposite me, the newest member of the Pigeon Impersonation Squad.

"TJ—have you ever dated anybody?"

He froze like a deer in headlights. A pigeon in headlights. "Huh?"

"I just… kind of need some advice. I figured—" At the expression on his face, I stopped. He looked like I'd just asked him to follow in his father's footsteps and let a giant wolf chew off his hand. "Wait a minute. Have you not?"

I was just about to backtrack and say that he didn't have to tell me about it if he didn't want to—but clearly, something about this conversation counted as _a challenge._ He frowned, seeming to puff himself up.

"Of course I have! I mean, there was this one girl I was sweet on, before the war." He wilted just a little. "She… we agreed to end things when I enlisted. Didn't want to wait around all her life for someone who might not even come back, you know. And there was that one valkyrie in the 1890s—she's gone—and that other valkyrie in the 1990s—she retired—and uh… well…" 

He muttered something under his breath. Again, I was about to tell him that he didn't have to talk about it, especially considering that everything he'd just said was _tragic as hell—_ but unfortunately, just as I opened my mouth to say so, some slow part of my brain finally decoded TJ's muttering.

"Wait, wait, wait. Did you just say— _Halfborn?"_ I said instead.

His hands flew up defensively, and his voice was about an octave higher than usual when he cried: "It was only for like a week, okay?! Or two weeks. Or—two months, tops. Maybe a year. Look, we were the only two einherjar on Floor 19 for a while, and it was super boring and super lonely and—whatever. It was about a hundred years ago. Ancient history." He squinted at me. "Don't look at me like that, dude is jacked."

My hands flew up to match his. "No, no, I mean believe me, I get it, _major_ jacked _—_ I'm just surprised. You two have never seemed coupley. Or, like… ex-ey."

He sighed and ran a hand through his close-cut hair. "Well, like I said, it was a long time ago. Things were pretty awkward for the first forty years or so, but… we got over it." He must have caught the incredulous look on my face, because he shrugged and said: "Things like that are pretty common amongst einherjar, Magnus. Eternity is a long time. Sometimes things happen, and then sometimes, over time, they just… unhappen again."

Well, that made sense. I thought of what Alex had said, back when she first arrived in Valhalla—that she had been scared of not-changing. Of being stuck one way forever. 

It made sense that she wouldn't want to be stuck with me forever, either.

"Wait a minute." TJ's eyes narrowed. "Aw, shit. You were asking all this because of Alex, weren't you? That's why you're looking at me like that sad 'mee-mee' cat." He poked me in the side. "What was the use of me telling you all about my embarrassingly uneventful 160-year-long love life if it's not even going to cheer you up?"

"Hey! I do _not_ look like the crying cat meme," I protested. Although the fact that my voice cracked right in the middle of that sentence didn't lend me any credibility. Thanks, eternal puberty! "What's the use of me teaching you memes if you're just going to use them against me, huh?"

TJ heaved a sigh. "Look, Magnus. Like I said, eternity is a long time. You and Alex may go through some rough spots, but… thanks to eternity, you'll always have time to make up again. Look at Halfborn and Mallory! They've been on-again off-again for like twenty years, but I don't think they'll ever break up for good. They're stupid about each other."

I couldn't tell whether 'stupid about each other' was meant to be a compliment or an insult, but I figured it probably applied to me and Alex either way. I nodded, picking thoughtfully at a fraying spot in the hideous hotel carpet. "Thanks, TJ. Really."

And then, because I just had to get it off my chest: "Purely hypothetically, um… do you think that Mallory has ever flirted with a cute Target cashier right in front of Halfborn?"

"Huh? I—oh. _Oh._ Oof. _"_ TJ chewed his lip, hissing in air through his teeth. "That's, uh… rough, buddy."

"Oh, come on! What did I _just_ say about the memes?"

"I'm sorry, I'm all out of advice! Relationship guru, I am not!" TJ grimaced. "I don't know. I mean, probably? But maybe not in a Target. I don't think Halfborn could handle Target. I've only been once, and I could barely—"

"TJ. Dude. I did not mean literally."

"Ah. Well. That would make sense." He gave a helpless sort of shrug. "I don't know, man. Like I said, I don't have much advice. All I can say is—a t this point, I think you should just talk to her."

I groaned and let my head fall back against the also-hideous hotel wallpaper. "Yeah... you and everyone else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Target, y'all. Can you tell? It's been so long since I got to go and run my gay little hands over all the unnecessary home goods, I feel like I'm going into withdrawal


	3. In Which I Am Very Nearly Forced to Watch Cars 2 (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOOO and we're back!! Hey, who has two thumbs and somehow thought they'd be able to maintain an update schedule on an ongoing fic while moving into (and completely repainting) a new house, in the middle of a pandemic, while also on the hook for book edits?? This not-guyy! 😬 Sorry for the wait, folks. To make up for it, here's two (2!!) whole new chapters of nonsense.
> 
> Also, THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS!! I am notoriously bad at responding to any sort of praise (my vocabulary immediately boils down to 'omg tysm omg'), so I haven't exactly responded to *cough* any of them… but please know that I've read each and every one and they have warmed my tired soul these past weeks 😭❤️
> 
> Also, **content warning for this chapter for the non-graphic discussion of the suicide of a minor character** ; if you want to skip it, stop reading at the mention of 'Adrian' (i.e. Alex's old friend mentioned in Ship of the Dead) and CTRL+F "And then you fucking came along." This chapter's an emotional one y'all, stay safe

Alex answered her door with a hand on her hip and a cherry lollipop in her mouth. 

"What?"

Not the friendliest greeting in the world. But then again, she had opened the door. Willingly, after presumably seeing me through the peephole. That was better than yesterday. And the day before. I took a deep breath.

"Hi." 

She pulled the lollipop from her mouth with a loud _pop._ "What are you doing here? Thought you had a date with Halfborn."

I tried desperately not to stare at her cherry-red lips. Or to splutter the words _'date with Halfborn?'_ back at her. Instead, I managed to say: "Yeah, that's—I already finished helping him. I think we need to talk." 

She raised an eyebrow. "What about?" 

"I, uh…" I cast a pained glance up and down the hall. "I'd really not say out here in the hall."

She sighed and walked back into her room, but she left the door open. I took that as an invitation, closing the door behind me as I stepped in. By the time I walked into the lounge, she was already sitting back at her pottery wheel, picking out a delicate pattern of what looked like snake-scales on a pale gray vase. I'd half-expected to find her with the lollipop sticking out the side of her mouth like an old-fashioned gangster with a cigarette, but apparently she'd tossed it away already. (Stop thinking about the damn lollipop, Magnus. Stay on topic, Magnus.)

"So?" she asked, not looking up. "What do you need to say so bad?"

I took another deep breath. Then another. One more. 

"Alex—are we actually dating?"

She paused, glancing up from her work. Then she said, in a perfectly unreadable tone of voice:

"Are we?"

This was an answer I hadn't prepared for. My mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"I—you—that's what I asked you!"

"Well, according to _yourself_ a few days ago, we're not. So, that's that." She turned back to the vase. "You need anything else?"

I blinked at her. "Wait. You mean… at Sam's party?"

"Where else?" she replied, quick as a whip, and I finally heard a flash of annoyance in her voice. There it was—proof that I wasn't going crazy. She was _definitely_ mad at me.

I was about to say something—apologize, probably, though I still wasn't even sure what I was apologizing for—when Alex slammed her little clay-carving tool down on the table.

"Look, I get it, okay? You don't have to come explain it to me like I'm an idiot." She pushed to her feet and snatched a rag from a nearby shelf, furiously wiping the clay off her hands. "It's all fun and games at first, and then the sexuality crisis kicks in, and the novelty wears off, and suddenly it's all weird and… _I get it._ It's fine. Let's just never mention it again and we can forget about it, alright?" 

Her words hit me like a slap. I mean, I actually stumbled back a step. I watched her screw up the rag and shove it in a laundry bag across the room, shocked and hurt and—yeah, alright. A little bit angry too.

"That's… what you think of me?" I said quietly. "That's what you think is happening?"

She swivelled around to face me, fists clenched at her sides.

"What else, Magnus?" Her voice broke ever so slightly—and then she met my eyes and glared at me, as if daring me to say something about it. "It's been _three months._ Every time I so much as touch your arm, you jump like you're fucking terrified of me. Every time I kiss you, you freeze up. Unless I come and practically sit on your lap, you always keep like, _ten fucking feet_ away from me. I can take a hint, okay?"

I stared at her, piece after piece clicking into place. I understood now what had kept us apart these long three months; I could finally see the whole picture. Even though it was an awful picture, a really stupid picture, I couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved.

"Alex," I said slowly. "I haven't been sending you hints. I haven't been trying to secretly break up with you, or run away, or—or _chicken out._ I was trying not to rush you. You said you needed space, so… I gave you space."

Alex narrowed her eyes. She still looked murderous, and angry, and hurt—but there was confusion there too. Kind of like a lion mid-bite, momentarily stunned by the fact that the gazelle it was about to sink its teeth into had started to tap-dance. 

"Space?" 

"Yeah." I raised my eyebrows. She couldn't possibly have forgotten, could she? "All the way back in June, you said that you had to think about it. That you needed a little extra time."

She stared at me, as if waiting for me to say, _Ha ha! Just kidding!_ When it was clear I wasn't going to, she gave an incredulous sort of laugh.

"But… I was _joking!_ The second time, I mean. I did need time to think it over at first, but—the second time was just a stupid joke!" 

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"Maybe 'cuz I said it right after I practically licked chocolate off your face? Was that not clear enough?" she snapped.

I threw my hands in the air. "Well, I told you in front of half of Niflheim that you kissing me was the best thing that had ever happened to me! Was that not clear enough?" 

Alex glared at me, folding her arms. "So you've just been—what? Waiting for me to get back to you? For _three months_?"

"I mean… yeah." I shrugged, the fight suddenly gone out of me. I met her eyes, and before I knew it, it just slipped out of me. 

"I'd wait forever, Alex."

I was mortified as soon as I said it. It hit me like yet another slap, a huge internal wave of _oof_ as every scrap of common sense I had screamed _that was a little intense, buddy. Reel it in, buddy._ But… 

I didn't want to reel it in. I didn't want to backtrack, keep my distance, like I always did. Because I'd meant it.

Alex stared at me, her face utterly blank. She blinked once—twice—three times. 

And then she burst into tears.

"I—what? Oh my god." I put my hands up, casting a frantic glance around the room as if I was afraid someone was about to crawl out of the woodwork and yell, _Good going, Magnus! You broke her!_

I shuffled forward a step or two. "Do, um… do you want me to get you some tissues?"

At that, she just cried harder, burying her head in her hands. I took that as a yes. With a few complicated "I'll be right back!" hand motions that she definitely didn't see, I ran from the room in search of a box of Kleenex. 

I found one on the living room table and grabbed a handful of tissues—and then, after further consideration, the whole box. By the time I got back to Alex's pottery room she was curled up in the corner of a dark green velvet sofa, sobbing into the crook of her arm.

"Here—um." I sat down awkwardly beside her and offered her a tissue. She took it silently and blew her nose (not so silently). And that was how it was for the next few minutes—her, crying and sniffling, and me, wordless keeper of the glittery pink-and-green-striped Kleenex box. (Where the magical room service managed to find these things, I had no idea.)

"Ugh, why are you so _nice?"_ she mumbled at last, her voice croaky.

"Should I be… less nice?" I raised my eyebrows, offering her another tissue. "Bitch?"

She made a sort of gross, hicuppy sound that I hoped was a laugh. "You're only allowed to call me that if I can call you that, too."

"You already do."

She shrugged, sniffling. "Fair." 

I kicked off my shoes and pulled my feet up onto the couch to sit cross-legged. Thinking about what she had said before, about me always sitting "ten feet away from her," I took extra care _not_ to avoid brushing my knee against hers. Which was totally not nerve-wracking. No, not at all. 

Alex wiped her eyes one last time and tossed her tissue across the room into the wastepaper basket. (It landed perfectly. Yes, I was impressed.) Then she tipped her head back against the velvet couch, closed her eyes, and said:

"I'm sorry, Magnus."

I didn't really know what to do with that. I opened my mouth, hoping some sort of intelligent answer would come out, but instead all that happened was:

"'S cool, dude."

Alex looked sort of bemused at that, which was good, because I was neither _be-_ nor _-mused_. In fact, I kind of wanted to ask Alex if she could just behead me and continue this conversation later when I came back to life.

"'S not cool, dude," she said. "I've been super confusing and vague and stupid, and you've just been… doing what I asked, I guess. You're not a mind-reader, and neither am I. I shouldn't have been treating you like shit just because of what I guessed was going on inside your head." She paused. "'Cuz of course, all that's actually going on in there is a little monkey on a tricycle singing—"

I didn't even have time to respond to that before her eyes flew open and she slapped herself on the forehead. " _Gah!_ Why? Sorry, that was uncalled for. I just…" 

She seemed to scramble for words for a minute, then shot me a a deathly serious look. "I have never been able to express a genuine emotion without couching it in humor, ever, in my life."

"I know this, and I love you," I responded, purely automatically. A second later, my brain caught up with my mouth and my eyes flew wide with panic. "I mean—I didn't, uh—"

"I know."

"I was just referencing the meme—"

"I know, Magnus."

"I mean, it's not that I don't _not—"_

"Shut up, Magnus."

"Shutting up."

Alex heaved a sigh and tipped her head back again. She stared at the ceiling, and I stared at her, and for some strange reason my brain took that moment to remind me yet again how beautiful she was. I couldn't stop looking at her: her green hair, frizzed-out and messy; the curve of her jaw; the faint smattering of freckles on her cheeks; her red-rimmed multi-color eyes, lashes sparkling with tears. I didn't like seeing her with tears sparkling on her eyelashes, of course, but still. You know. 

Wow. 

"I wanna tell you something," she said softly. 

"Yeah?" 

"It's kind of a bummer." 

"Noo, Alex, you're never allowed to say anything that isn't funny," I said drily. She elbowed me in the side, a smile flashing across her face, though it disappeared again just as quickly.

"You remember what I told you about Adrian?"

I nodded. How could I forget? Alex's former friend who had committed suicide—the voice she had heard calling out to her from Helheim three months ago.

"We met at the shelter," Alex continued. "I hadn't been out long, and he was the first… well, okay. There was this one girl before that, but she was an asshole. You can probably guess, from all the shit I told you earlier. Got cold feet, wanted to act like _she_ wasn't the one to kiss me first, and—" She cleared her throat. "Anyway. Adrian was the first person I met who ever really got me. The real me."

Alex grabbed another tissue from the box, but she didn't use it; she only crumpled it into a tiny ball and unfolded it again, over and over and over.

"We, um… we went fast. Like—we'd only known each other two days when we started dating, fast. I was in deep. Daydreaming about what we'd name our kids or whatever. You know, stupid fourteen-year-old stuff."

I couldn't deny it; hearing all that, I felt a twinge of jealousy. It was like some horrible little voice whispering in the back of my mind— _she's never daydreamed about what you're going to name_ your _kids, Magnus… You've known each other six months and you're not even dating_ now, _Magnus!_ Carefully, I imagined pulling that little voice out like a weed and tossing it into the kiln in the corner of the room. 

"And then, after we'd been dating a year… well." She swiped at her eyes. "You know. I was a mess for so long. Just numb and angry and guilty, wondering if there was anything more I could've done, wondering if I even helped at all, or… I don't know. For a while, I wished I'd never even met him. Didn't seem like it was worth it, falling in love just to—"

She put a hand over her face again, breathing in and out, in and out. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd taken her other hand in mine and squeezed it, lacing our fingers together. How strange that was—for months I'd danced around her, overthinking the slightest thing. And now, I'd taken her hand without a second thought. 

"I guess some part of me was hoping that I could just put it off forever. Falling… for someone. Again. So I wouldn't have to put myself through all that bullshit again." She sniffed loudly, then finally took her hand from her face and practically yelled at the ceiling: "And then _you_ fucking came along, with your fucking _Kurt Cobain hair_ and your _stupid-ass dimples—"_

I couldn't help but smile a little at that. "I have dimples?"

"Shut up. _Fuck."_ She swiped at my head, pushing my fucking-Kurt-Cobain-hair into my eyes. I snickered, batting her hand away—and then, to my surprise, she leaned over and laid her head on my shoulder. I froze at first, hardly daring to move, but as the seconds ticked by I gradually let myself relax.

Eventually, slowly, I leaned over and rested my head on hers too. 

"Sorry," she mumbled at last. "For… everything. Taking out all my mess on you. I didn't even fucking realize I was _doing_ it somehow, until you came over here. Being all _honest_ and _emotionally available…_ "

"It's called having no filter between m' mouth and m' brain," I replied. She snorted—until her face grew serious again. She tilted her head up, looking me right in the eyes in a way that made my stomach turn to jelly. 

"Seriously, though. Let me know if I ever start acting stupid like that again, you hear?"

"Okay," I said quietly. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "So long as you do the same for me."

I was setting myself up, and we both knew it. Alex grinned and practically crooned: "Well, that's gonna be hard, seeing as you're _always stu—"_

"I thought you weren't going to be mean to me anymore!" I cried as she cackled. 

"I never said _that._ I'm still gonna be mean to you, only like… in a more honest and emotionally available way."

"Ah, I see." I nudged my knee against hers again, brushing those stupid-adorable cat tights of hers. "Sooo, seeing as we we're being honest and everything… let me ask you again. Are we dating?"

She nudged my knee right back. "Yea. 'Course we are. Dummy. I fuckin' like you." She held up a finger like she was pointing to a speech bubble above her head. "See? Mean, yet forthright."

"I can deal with that," I said, chuckling. "Also…"

"Yeah, Captain Honesty-Hour?"

"Just one more thing." I waited until she un-buried her head again so I could look at her properly. So she could see that I was serious. 

"What you said earlier," I said quietly. "You know I'm not just… some gross chaser or something, right? You're not just a novelty to me. I like you for _you,_ Alex. I really do."

She gave me a long look. Warm eyes, sappy smile. It was the kind of moment you didn't mind sitting in for a moment, letting it last.

"You like me, huh?" she said finally, softly. 

For some reason, I found myself blushing. "I mean… yeah. I mean, you just said the same—"

I stuttered to a halt as she reached up to brush the hair out of my face. Her hand came to rest just below my ear, thumb against the corner of my jaw, fingers tangling in my hair. Slowly, the sappy grin turned mischievous. 

"How 'bout you prove it?" 

I laughed a little, startled, and grinned right back. " _Oh._ Well—I mean, if you insist—"

And that was all I got out before she pulled me forward and pressed her lips to mine.

* * *

I lost count, in the end. Which was fine by me. No need to keep counting kisses, after all, once you're officially dating. _Official—_ I'd never really understood why people said that, before. It wasn't as if there were forms to sign, ID cards to print. _This piece of plastic hereby certifies that Manus Chase and Alex Fierro are romantically involved._ But I understood it now. I felt the difference, before and after, like night and day. We'd been kind-of-sort-of-maybe dating for three whole months, but now, officially, I could kiss her. I could tell her how much I loved her eyes, her hair, her hands, how much those stupid cans of bright-red soda had tortured me back in England. ( _Oh, I know,_ she replied, with an evil grin.) I could prop my chin in my hands and stare at her across the kitchen counter as she stirred heaps of cinnamon into her hot chocolate—catch her eye and smile, and watch as she smiled back. 

" _Girlfriend,"_ I said as she tapped her spoon clean on the edge of the mug, and she looked up again to squint at me. 

"Are you… addressing me? Or just, like, listing nouns?"

I grinned. "Addressing you, I guess. Can I call you that?"

"Oh, yeah." She tossed her spoon into the sink. "Today, that is. Until and unless—"

"—you tell me otherwise," I finished, and she shot me another smile. Then she nudged me with her elbow and made for the living room.

"Come on. The DVD will be finished fast-forwarding through all the previews now."

Immediately, I groaned. "Oh my God, you're serious? You're really gonna make me watch it again?"

"Hey, by your own admission, you didn't even watch it the first time—you were too busy staring at my beautiful face. And if I had to suffer through this movie once, so do you." She plopped down into the corner of the sofa with her hot chocolate. " _And_ it suddenly appearing on my coffee table can't be a coincidence. The hotel has decided that _Cars 2_ is our movie, Magnus."

I glared at the rictus CGI grin of Lightning McQueen on the screen. "I still maintain it was meant to be more like a souvenir. Something to put in a frame. Behind glass. And never watch again."

"Oh, stop whining." She caught my eye and wiggled an eyebrow. "I mean… it's not like we have to watch it the whole time, anyway."

I winced. "I… do not like these psychological associations you're encouraging me to make with _Cars 2."_

That finally seemed to be the argument that got to her. She grimaced at me over the rim of her mug. "Hmm. Okay, fine, you have a point. What else is over there?"

"Lemme see." I got on my knees and dug out a stack of DVDs from beneath the TV stand. " _Pacific Rim 2?"_

"After what they did to my gay scientists? _Pass_. Is there anything over there that isn't a shitty sequel?"

"Uh… oh, _Ratatouille!"_

"You wanna make out to _Ratatouille_? You sick fuck?"

"I—" I ducked out from under the TV stand, spluttering with indignation as she cackled on the sofa. "That's—I didn't— _how is that any worse than Cars 2!?"_

In the end, we settled on _The Iron Giant,_ which meant that for the most part I was too busy crying to do anything much besides sit and sniffle while Alex handed me tissues—which was an interesting role-reversal of earlier, I thought. (I did catch her sniffling too though, right at the very end; _"Reminds me of Pottery Barn,"_ she'd muttered, and grabbed one of the Kleenex for her own.) By the time the movie was over, it was nearly midnight. We sat and talked as the credits rolled, and long after that, in that sleepy sort of way where you can hardly remember afterwards what you'd said at all. Alex's head was in my lap, her hand curled against my knee. I'd kept looking down at her, all throughout the movie, like I couldn't quite believe she was there. 

At last, when I couldn't hold my yawns in any longer, I muttered, "Ugh, I should probably go to bed."

Alex twisted her head to look up at me, eyes shining nearly white in the light of the TV screen. There was a strange expression on her face I couldn't quite place—sad, or worried, or anxious. Something along those lines.

"Can you stay? For the night?"

I blinked once, twice, feeling my face go beet-red. "Uh—I, uh—"

She gave a spectacular eye-roll and smacked my leg. "Oh my God, not like _that._ Get your mind out of the gutter. I just…"

There was that sad-anxious-worried look again. There was a little wrinkle right between her eyebrows; I wanted to reach out and press it smooth.

"I miss sleeping next to people sometimes," she muttered. "And it's—it's stupid, because like, who misses being homeless, right? And I _don't_ miss it. It was fucking awful. But that one thing—"

"I get it," I said. And I did. It was why I'd been so glad to have Hearth and Blitz stay over that one time, after all. "These rooms are so big and echoey sometimes."

"God, I know, right?" she said, sounding so relieved it broke my heart a little. "And it doesn't help that my bed is stupid-huge, and right in the middle of the room, and too heavy to move, so I can never have my back to a wall… For a while, I would just turn into a cat and sleep in my closet every night."

"That does sound super cozy, though," I said. 

"You know, it was. I should be a cat more often," she admitted. She looked up at me again, raising her eyebrows like a question. "So?"

I blinked. "What?"

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh my _God,_ don't make me say it _again,_ it was embarrassing enough the first time _._ Do I need to go get you the brain?"

"I—oh! Yeah, of course. Of course I'll stay over, Alex. No biggie." I jiggled my knee awkwardly. "I do uh, need to go and get my pajamas first though."

"Oh. yeah." She lifted her head off my lap and watched as I shook the pins and needles out my legs. I'd just about shaken my way over to the door when she called after me:

"Just—do _not_ let anyone see you coming back here. I don't need that kind of drama in my life."

I winced. "Oof—yeah, seconded. Okay, ninja-Magnus is on the case."

I just caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes before the door slid closed. 

* * *

It took a full eight minutes (I counted) for me and Alex (mostly me) to agree on sleeping arrangements. ("Just budge over, Magnus." "But I don't wanna be weird…" "Literally my boyfriend, Magnus. It's not weird." "But I don't wanna _make_ it weird…" "You know what's weird? You perching on the very edge of the mattress like you're worried I'm gonna _eat_ you if you get too close. Just get over here." "But I don't want to mess up your weird pillow-nest… Should I just sleep on the couch?" "I swear to _fuck._ ") In the end, somehow, we ended up smooshed together amidst a pile of pillows. My arm was draped over Alex's side, my head resting just behind hers in the crook of her neck, and… okay, yes, it was a little weird. But the best kind of weird I'd ever known in my short undead life. 

"Nice pajamas," Alex murmured, snickering under her breath. 

"Thank you," I replied, choosing to ignore the tone. They were in fact my nicest pajamas, a gift from Blitzen earlier that year, bright red with little penguins all over. I'd figured they were a lot nicer than my old (extremely well-used) Fadlan's Falafel t-shirt, which Hotel Valhalla had somehow managed to deliver, steamed and pressed, to my closet after I'd first moved in. "I like yours too." 

She turned her head to squint at me. "Really? Old MCR merch?"

"Hey, _Three Cheers_ is a classic." She twisted even farther to face me, her eyes bugging out, and I laughed. "Hey, you don't know me, Alex Fierro! I have hidden depths!"

"Hidden _emo_ depths, apparently."

"Maybe so."

She snorted and turned back to snuggle into the pillows. For a long while, we just lay there in the dark; I listened to her breathing, in and out, slower and slower, until I was sure she was asleep. My own eyelids grew heavy. But before I could drift off to sleep entirely, I was sure I heard her mutter:

"If you tell anyone I'm a little spoon I'll fucking kill you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch as I shamelessly project my emo music taste and opinions about Pacific Rim onto Alex Fierro. Also please ignore the simultaneous existence of canonical 2011-era technology alongside Pacific Rim 2... I only noticed this after writing it and I'm too lazy to fix it now WHOOPS 😂


	4. In Which Alex Lends Me Socks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSYCHE you thought there were only gonna be three chapters? So did I lol ✌️

I woke to a fluffy hotel bath towel tossed in my face. I sat up, spluttering, to see Alex standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hand on hip.

"Baffroom's free," he said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Good morning to you too, boyfriend of mine," I muttered sarcastically, still blinking the sleep from my eyes. I squinted. "Boyfriend, right?"

"Yep. He, him, hiff." He leaned back in the bathroom and spat out into the sink. "Have I told you that's your weirdest superpower? Like, handy, don't get me wrong—but also weird."

I yawned and slumped my way out of bed over to my little pile of stuff in the corner. "I mean, you are wearing your argyle sweater."

"What?" He looked down, tugging at the bottom of the sweater to get a better look. "Magnus, I have like seven of these." 

"Yeah, but that one's like… I dunno. Boy vibes?" I frowned down at my stack of clean clothes. "Aw, man. Hey, can I borrow some socks? I forgot to bring a clean pair."

"Yea, sure. Green dresser, second drawer down on the left." 

I wandered over to the green dresser, totally not at all worrying that I'd somehow accidentally open the wrong drawer and Alex would toss me out for violating his privacy, and opened the second one on the left. I glanced inside, meaning to just pick out the plainest pair I could find as quickly as possible—and froze. 

Because right in front of me was a pair of rainbow striped socks. Next to it, another pair striped in hot pink and purple and blue—next to that, one in blue and white and pink. Pride socks, all of them. I mean, not _all_ of them—there were regular ones in the back, boring old Adidas. But somehow I couldn't seem to look past these ones. 

I stood there for about a full minute, my heart rattling nervously in my chest. Eventually, I heard Alex call out:

"You good, Magnus? Have the socks eaten you? Have you found my extensive collection of fake passports? Yes, I will admit it, I'm secretly working for the CIA. I'm actually a twenty-seven-year-old cishet dude from Illinois named Kyle Jenkins, and I love Christ and capitalism. This whole undead demigod business has all just been _really_ deep cover." 

I looked over to see him sitting at the bathroom counter, carefully applying some beautifully neat cat-eye eyeliner. So either that "bathroom's free" thing had been a lie, or he'd fully expected me to have an existential crisis over a pair of socks, and had taken that otherwise wasted time into account. 

"I, um…" I shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. "Hey. Can I ask you a question, Alex?"

"Ominous, but sure."

"Well, the thing is—" I cleared my throat. "I don't know what I… am."

"Okay, first, not a question. Second—" He finished his left eye with a dramatic flourish and leaned back to admire his work in the mirror. "Gonna need you to be a bit more specific than that, Magnus."

"Like… sexuality-wise. I mean, I know I'm not straight, obviously, but apart from that… I dunno. I've been trying to figure it out for months, but I just—" I scowled, muttering down at the folded jeans in my arms. "—can't. Nothing feels right." 

Alex didn't say anything at first. Which made me only slightly incredibly nervous—but not nearly as nervous as when I heard him stand up and cross the room toward me. He took my hands (which was kind of hard, as I was really death-gripping those jeans) and sighed. 

"You've really been freaking out about this for months?" 

"Well—yeah," I muttered, a tad defensive. "Not all of us can have everything figured out right away, I mean—"

" _Magnus_ , oh my god," he said flatly. "Do you know how long it took me to figure out all my shit? Fucking _years._ " 

I blinked, finally looking up to meet his eyes and—oh, wow. That eyeliner was really flattering. 

Stay on topic, Magnus.

Alex held up his hand, counting along his fingers. "First I thought I was a gay dude, then I realized I was bi, then I thought I might just be a girl, then for a few _really bad_ months after my dad got me that therapist I thought I might just be making it all up for attention, then—" He shrugged. "I mean, I could go on. But the point is, it took me about four years of bullshit—staying up late, wondering if I was just faking it all, trying out different names and pronouns—to finally find something that felt like it fit. And even then, it might not fit forever. Who knows? Maybe in a couple years I'll feel differently, and I'll find something else that fits me better."

I frowned. "But… you've always seemed so—"

"Confident?" He grinned. "Fake it 'til ya make it, babey!"

I breathed in, slowly, and out, slowly. I let Alex's words sink in. I stared down at Alex's hands in mine—the chipped green nail polish, the freckles across the backs of his hands, the rolled-up edges of his sleeves. 

"So… what should I do, then?" I asked. "For now? Until I do figure it all out?"

Alex shrugged. "I'unno. Sometimes—and listen, before I even start, I know it's an unfortunate metaphor, I'm open to any better suggestions you may have, ideally I'd like some sort of comparison that _doesn't_ reference the medicalization of queer identities throughout history, but in my defense, it was my demonic therapist who started this one—" He paused for breath. " _Sometimes,_ it's helpful to stop trying to give yourself some sort of diagnosis, and just address whatever symptoms you have. You know—'I like wearing skirts.' 'I don't like that name.' 'I wanna kiss boys.'"

"Whoah, whoah—who are these boys?" I said wryly, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. I had meant it as a joke, really—and Alex definitely took it as one at first, snorting and rolling his eyes—but then, to my surprise, he leaned in and lifted a hand to cup my face.

"Just one boy in particular I have in mind," he said softly, and pressed his lips to mine. My breath stuttered to a halt; my eyes fell closed; his fingertips ghosted feather-light against my cheek. I could smell whatever was in the shower gel he used, coconut and lime and something-else, sharp and sweet. 

"Thank you," I said as he pulled away, and he immediately snickered. 

"' _Thank you'?_ Wow. That good, huh?" 

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "You know what I mean! Thank you for—the talk. The advice. The Validation. You're good at this."

"Hell yea I am. Do you know how many kids at the Space I've given this same talk over the past few months? I'm a fucking grade-A professional queer sherpa over here."

"A professional?" I grinned, leaning forward to rest my forehead against his. "Wow. What's the pay like?"

"Terrible. But it's ok." He raised an eyebrow. "I get paid in other ways."

"Oh, that sounds like a harassment lawsuit waiting to happen."

We giggled for a moment, shoulders shaking with laughter, the pair of jeans still clutched in my hands clutched in Alex's. _Remember kids, leave space for <strike>Jesus</strike> jeans._

Abruptly, my stomach made a loud growl.

"Oh—Magnus Junior has spoken," Alex said. 

"I thought Magnus Junior was the stupid brain candle?"

"Magnus Junior II, then. Whatever. Do you want to go down to break—" He stepped back and looked me up and down, as if only just realizing. "Oh my God, how are you still in your pajamas?"

"I—at what point would I have changed out of my pajamas, Alex?" I spluttered, incredulous. "You were doing your makeup, and then I was having a crisis, and I _still_ need some socks, and—"

"Ah, cram it." Alex dug a pair of hot-pink ankle socks out of the drawer and tossed them my way. "Just hurry up, will you? I wanna get to the blueberry pancakes before Halfborn eats them all again."

* * *

One hasty shower and a hair-related argument later ("Why are you combing it?" "Why… wouldn't I comb it?" "Because you're getting rid of all those _beachy waves,_ Magnus!" "You mean my bed-head?" "I swear—put that down right now, I'm getting you my wide-tooth detangling comb and some goddamn mousse."), we went down to breakfast. I was so stupidly giddy—and so busy arguing with Alex about whether blueberry pancakes were best with the blueberries baked in or fresh on top—that I nearly missed the reactions of the rest of Floor 19 when the two of us sat down together, apparently as friendly as we'd ever been. There were lots of raised eyebrows and significant looks; most notable from TJ, who kept trying to catch my eye and shoot me a questioning thumbs up under the table.

It was after the second time that Alex ruffled my hair (totally messing up all those 'beachy waves' he had complained so hard about me ruining just ten minutes before— _why?_ ) that Halfborn put his fork down and said. 

"Alex, Magnus… I'm still confused. Are you—"

I froze, halfway through a sip of orange juice. TJ grimaced so hard I could see about every one of his teeth. Mallory hissed an incoherent stream of curses and batted at Halfborn's arm, but he continued on, unstoppable as a steam roller.

"—are you two a couple or not?"

I cast an anxious glance at Alex. We hadn't actually discussed if we were going to tell people yet—thought it seemed pointless not to, seeing as pretty much everybody already seemed to know. Still, I was ready to backtrack at a moment's notice, if Alex wasn't ready.

But to my surprise, he didn't deny anything. He didn't even answer Halfborn right away. Instead, he sighed and climbed up onto the bench with a teaspoon and mug of coffee in hand. As soon as I realized what he was going to do, I nearly spat out my orange juice.

"Attention, everyone!" Alex bellowed, clinking the spoon against his mug, which got the attention not only of everyone at the Floor 19 table but about twenty surrounding tables as well. 

" _OhmyGodwhy,_ " I groaned, sinking down in my seat. 

"For any parties who may be interested," Alex said, seemingly undaunted by the fact that half the eyes in the cafeteria had just swivelled in our direction, "I would like to make it known that _yes,_ Magnus Chase, son of Frey, and I, Alex Fierro, occasional son of Loki, are indeed romantically involved."

"'Romantically involved'?" Mallory repeated, deadpan. 

"Yea," said Alex, still to the room at large. "You know. Going out. Going steady. Courting. Wooing. Keeping company. Pursuing an affair. Kissing on the reg."

From across the other side of the cafeteria, in the vicinity of the octogenarian table, there was a loud—albeit brief, and slightly confused— _"woo."_ Another one came a moment later, followed by a few cries of " _Gratulerer!",_ and before I knew it the entire cafeteria was hooting and banging their tankards on the tables. (Yes, I know it was breakfast, but it was a Viking breakfast, so of course there were tankards.)

"Please, Frey, Odin, anyone, kill me now," I muttered, desperately tugging on Alex's pants leg to try an get him to sit down. He did, eventually, though not before he gave a dramatic bow to the crowd and chugged the rest of his mug of coffee. (More cheering at this, for some reason. Einherjar will always cheer at a good chugging, I suppose.) He was grinning when he sat down, face flushed—though it was nothing, I was sure, compared to how red mine must be.

"I hate you," I moaned, hand shielding my eyes so I couldn't see the einherjar at neighboring tables craning their necks to get a glimpse of Magnus Chase, son of Frey, boyfriend of ages.

"Nah, you don't," Alex said cheerfully, flashing me another grin, and leaned over to steal a spoonful of my strawberry yoghurt.

"Oh. Oh, I've changed my mind," Mallory said abruptly. "I've been saying for weeks I couldn't wait for you two to get your shit together, but now that you have I can see you're going to be just insufferable. I can't take any more of this."

Alex snickered as she rose and picked up her empty tray, sticking out his tongue at her. " _Mleh—_ you're just jealous that you and Halfborn are off-again. And that he won't stand up and proclaim his love to you in front of a whole army. Or cafeteria. Or whatever."

Halfborn blinked. "Wait. Is she?" He turned, glancing after Mallory with a look of rising panic. He scrambled up, ready to chase after her. "Mallory—Mallory, _are you?_ Is that why? Because I can definitely—"

He scurried after her, and the rest of us—including me, mortified though I was—dissolved into giggles. TJ pointed a fork in our direction, smile quirking at his lips, and said:

"You do realize that you still have to tell Blitzen and Hearthstone, right? And Sam? And Amir? And Helgi, and Hunding, and—"

Alex's smile faded just a little. "Aw, shit. That's right. And here I went, using up all my dramatics at once…."

"I'm sure you'll find some other occasion to be dramatic about it," I said drily. 

"Eh, you're right. Oh!" Alex's eyebrows flew upward. "There is Blitzen's birthday party next week. I could definitely do something stupid and embarrassing then. But that is five whole days away… do you think these idiots can keep their mouths shut until then? Or is that too long?"

I looked over at Alex—at the glitter in his eyes, the mischievous smile on his face, the way he tapped my stolen yoghurt spoon thoughtfully against his bottom lip. Just looking at him, I couldn't help but smile back.

"Nah," I said. "I think it'll be worth the wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!! Thank you all for reading, everybody, and for being patient while (in typical 2020 fashion) I went through about 7 years' worth of life changes in the middle of this fic and left you all on a cliffhanger for two months, whoops. And of course, to everyone who's left comments or kudos on this fic (that includes you, yes YOU!) I offer you my humblest thanks and a (virtual, COVID-safe) blown kiss. MWAH!


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